To belong
by Isolith
Summary: Wishlist gift for Rococoms (major crimes livejorunal comm). Rusty is a bit anxious about celebrating Sharon's birthday and meeting her family.


**To belong.**

_Summary:_ Rusty is a bit anxious about celebrating Sharon's birthday and meeting her family.

_A/N:_ This is a wishlist gift for Rococoms at the major crimes comm at livejournal. I hope you enjoy this Rococoms and that it's not too far from what you imagined/wished for; it turned out too be way more fluffy than I'd intended. =) Hope all you other lovely people enjoy it as well. =)

**/**

Rusty woke up before Sharon, trudging into the kitchen already dressed for the day. Heading for the coffee machine, he quickly put in a new filter and poured grounded coffee beans into it. He hopped onto the kitchen sink, waiting for the machine to start brewing. He smoothed down his shirt, pulled out the top drawer in the cabinet beneath him and found a half-eaten chocolate bar. He tore off a square and put it into his mouth.

Sharon had come home late last night, a case that had kept her at the office until at least midnight in the last week. He had left the dark chocolate out for her along with a glass of red wine. He had waited up but in the end he had relented and gone to bed at twelve.

However, it had been a fitful sleep. It had overwhelmed him; he had not been able to turn his mind off. It had gone round in circles, relentlessly focused on what was going to happen tomorrow. Today, he amended.

It was stupid, really. There was nothing to be nervous about and yet he felt anxious. Maybe it was the prospect of meeting Sharon's family, meeting her real son and inadvertently comparing himself to the guy, inadvertently feeling left out. It was ridiculous. Nevertheless, it bothered him.

Maybe he countered; maybe he just wanted her to himself. It was a comfortable home with just the two of them. It was their home – it had become his home; and they had sunk into the domesticity of it with ease now. Maybe he was afraid of outsiders disturbing the calm; even if they were not really outsiders. If anything, he was the outsider.

He tore off another square of chocolate.

Maybe it was the fact that he was anxious about the gift he wanted to give to her. This was all so new, family gatherings and birthday presents, he had no clue what to do with these things. They were in his world as distant as constellations of stars in the night sky.

"Is _that_ what you're having for breakfast?"

Rusty had not heard Sharon coming into the kitchen; he looked up, smiled when he found her still in her pajamas and looking sleepier than usual.

"You had it for dinner! How is that any different?"

Her eyebrow twitched, "Honey," she started, resting a hand briefly on his shoulder before opening a cabinet and taking out two mugs, "Eating chocolate won't calm your nerves. There's absolutely no reason to be nervous, at all."

She poured coffee into the two mugs.

He scratched the side of his neck, baffled she was able to tell what was going on in his head, a little stuck by the directness of it.

"I'm not nervous."

She smiled, "You've talked to my father countless times now."

"Only because you keep misplacing your iPhone and your dad calls everytime you're in the shower!" he retorted, "And I wouldn't exactly call those phone calls a talk. A talk implies two people partaking in a dialogue; your dad is the only one talking."

"I know."

She put one of the mugs into his hands, moved to the refrigerator and took out a carton of yoghurt. She poured a generously amount into two bowls, pulled out a cutting board and started slicing fruit.

Rusty remembered the first time he had answered the phone, expecting one of the lieutenants to be on the other end, and it had been Raydor Senior. Sharon had a tendency to forget where she placed her phone and as such it was usually either Provenza or Flynn who called on the landline. He had picked up the phone and uttered a disinterested, 'Yeah.' The voice had been articulate and definitely male, rough but not the baritone of Flynn. "You must be Rusty, kid," Sharon's father had said. What followed had been an awkward stutter of 'yeah', 'who's this' and the reply of 'tell that red-haired daughter of mine to call her old father, would you, son'.

Rusty was not familiar with old people; they were far out of his comfort zone. He was uncomfortable with people knowing him without him knowing about them. Obviously, Sharon's father knew all about him. The next time Rusty had answered the phone and Raydor Senior had been on the other end, Rusty had ended up explaining his future educational plans, stumbling through and trying to find answers to the questions fired at him. It had felt like a third degree, delivered in a steady, calm voice that reminded him too much of Sharon. He figured that was the reason he had answered.

Rusty hopped down from the sink and found the oatmeal. He poured a bit into the two bowls and watched as Sharon ladled fruit into them as well.

"You want raisins?"

"Mm-hmm," she hummed in reply.

They took their breakfast into the living room and sat down on the sofa, mugs with steaming coffee on the table in front of them.

"Did you sleep at all?" she asked him, and he wondered not for the first time how she had become so adapt at reading him. It frightened him sometimes but mostly it was an anchor he treasured.

"Some," he told her truthfully around a mouthful of yogurt.

Her eyes narrowed, whether it was directed at him talking with food in his mouth or at the fact that he had slept badly was beyond him.

"You know it does not matter at all what they think about you," she told him, voice gentle.

He gave her a doubtful glare, "Of course it matters."

She gave a chuckle, "Don't worry, honey, they'll love you."

"How can you be so sure?"

Her smile widened and her eyes crinkled, "You're family."

He nodded, even if he did not completely believe her. She had a way of reassuring him that still surprised him.

He sighed, "So, grocery shopping?"

"Oh yeah, and you're coming along."

He gave a mock-sigh, rolled his eyes, "Sharon!"

"No, mister. You're going to be my pack-mule. I'm so old and frail; I cannot possibly carry all that food by myself."

"You said it, not me."

She laughed, "You can pick all the candy."

He narrowed his eyes, "You kidding?"

"Nope"

"It's a trap then?"

"Definitely not."

"You're sick?"

"Rusty, I'm not a fanatic – I'm not against sweets every now and then."

"Just checking," he grinned.

She grinned back. They ate in silence for a short time, him eyeing her out of the corner of his eyes and trying to figure out when he was supposed to give her his present.

"Happy birthday by the way," he ventured, catching her eyes, "I mean, I wanted to wake you up with breakfast and all but you're an unreasonably early riser."

Her smile widened, "You made coffee." A small statement and it sounded like the world to him.

He smiled back, "Yeah."

It would be better to wait with the present, he figured. It was too soon, he was not ready yet.

**/**

The store was packed, filled with people hurrying about and a low hum of people talking. It was not this that bothered him. No, it was the little brown-haired four-year old who had latched onto his hand with a firm grip and was tugging him down the aisle with candy.

They had barely eaten their breakfast when Sharon's doorbell had rung and a tall, brown-haired guy and this little creature had walked in, loud boisterous voices, sharing hugs and kisses on cheeks with Sharon.

Sharon's son stood two heads taller than her, a pair of sunglasses obscuring his eyes and a wide, cheeky grin. Rusty was undecided about him, he had naturally shook his hand and greeted him but still, he was unsure about any of this. The little girl had immediately situated herself in Sharon's arms, asking question left and right about who Rusty was and a multiple of other questions.

Now they were in the supermarket, Sharon with the trolley and her long list of what she needed. Her son, Jonathan, walking beside her, the two of them talking in hushed voices about something or other. Looking at ease with each other, small shared smiles and the same tone when they laughed. It left the little girl, Sam, with Rusty. Sharon sent them to find candy.

"Rusti?"

"Yeah," he answered, a bit annoyed at being pulled in this and that direction by the little girl. A bit annoyed at everything in general, apparently.

"Are you my new uncle?"

Her brown eyes were trained on the lowest shelf, her small chubby hand already around a bag of gummy bears.

"I don't think so." She surprised him with her question.

The girl let go of his hand and then proceeded to latch onto another bag of candy and another one until she had about ten bags stuffed in her arms. She looked up at him with a wide smile.

"I'm not sure we need that much," he told her and went to pry some of it from her. She took a step back, "Gamma said to pick candy."

"Yeah, but you don't wanna eat that much. It's gonna rot your teeth."

Her lower lip trembled and her eyes widened, and before Rusty could comprehend this sign, she started sniffling and ran in the direction of Sharon and the trolley, her armful of candy bags left on the floor in a heap.

Rusty sighed, quickly swept the candy bags up on the shelf again before he trotted after the little girl.

"Gamma, gamma, Rusti says my teeth are gonna rot," the little girl cried when she came up next to the two adults.

"I did not, I just told her not to get twenty kilos of candy," Rusty defended himself when he caught up.

Sharon merely smiled and lifted the little girl up into the trolley.

"It's alright, Sam, your teeth are going to be just fine," she told the little girl and went to draw Rusty into a half hug. "Calm down honey," she whispered in his ear, "Kids are meant to be annoying, just go pick something."

Rusty acquiesced and went to the candy aisle again; looking back and finding Sharon tickling Sam, telling her something that must be funny judging by the smiles they shared.

He sighed; this was going to be a long day.

Back in the candy aisle, however, his eyes latched onto a familiar figure. It was a sight for sore eyes, seeing someone familiar.

"Flynn," Rusty greeted the older man when he came up next to the lieutenant.

Flynn tilted his head at his name, eyes crinkled in a greeting, "Kid – hey, nice to see you."

Rusty gave a half-hearted nod.

"You alright? You here with the Capt'n?"

"I'm on candy duty," Rusty answered, and pointed in the direction of Sharon who had her back to them, Sam standing upright in the trolley and Jonathan throwing food into the trolley.

"Oh," Flynn squinted his eyes as he looked at Sharon, "Who's that with her?"

Rusty sighed, "Her son and granddaughter."

"She's a grandparent," Flynn commented, obviously surprised by this.

"Yeah, annoying little brat."

Flynn eyes came to rest on Rusty again, "You feeling alright?" he asked again.

"Just, I don't know."

The lieutenant continued to look at him; Rusty found he might as well tell him.

"I just feel kinda misplaced, you know. The whole Raydor clan is coming and I don't fit in with them. You know, her dad is a former Supreme Court judge or something! Her son, well, I'm sure he's something fancy or other. I just – well, I would rather it was just me and Sharon."

Flynn's hand landed on his shoulder and squeezed, "You've gotta tough it out, kid. It's just people. They are not even random people, it's her family. You'll fit in just fine, you'll see."

"Do you think she's told them everything about me?" Rusty could tell the question threw Flynn slightly off; it was one he had not meant to ask – the words coming out of his mouth, it confused Rusty as well.

"Rusty," Sharon's voice called out before Flynn could answer him.

"Why, hello Lt Flynn," Sharon greeted when she came up next to them, Sam and Jonathan nowhere in sight.

"Capt'n," Flynn greeted his mouth now in a wide smile.

The two continued to smile at each other, exchanging pleasantries.

Rusty rolled his eyes. What a spectacle, he initially thought. But then, with a closer look, he decided this was his opportunity.

"It's Sharon's birthday," he interrupted into the middle of their conversation, going for an innocent smile.

Sharon gave a half smile and a nod, Flynn's smile widening.

Before they could begin talking again Rusty managed to invite Lieutenant Flynn along to the festivities, an innocent face and a diplomatic question. This way he had an ally with the whole family gathering, Rusty figured. Additionally, the two idiots had an excuse to gaze at each other then, instead of standing foolishly at the supermarket making weird gooey-eyes at each other. Sharon would never have invited Flynn herself, so really it was a win-win.

**/**

Rusty was peeling potatoes at the sink alongside Lieutenant Flynn who was in the middle of slicing up tomatoes for a salad.

"Kid, you could have mentioned you brought me along to this shindig for menial labor."

Rusty grinned, "Take it up with task-master Sharon."

"I wouldn't dare."

"Nope, me either."

They shared a grin, then became engrossed in their small tasks again. Rusty did not mind preparing the food; it swept through him in a calm way. He was certain Flynn did not mind either, what with the small whistling to accompany the light jazz Sharon had put on the stereo. Sharon was in her bedroom, braiding the little girl's hair and Jonathan was outside on the veranda tinkering with the grill, muttering and cursing every once in a while. Rusty shook his head to himself; none of them were what he had expected.

"Mom, this is completely out of my league," Jonathan yelled from outside, "Are you even sure this old thing works?"

"What?" Sharon stuck her head out of her bedroom door, a distracted look.

"I said," Jonathan stretched the words out in the same peculiar tone Sharon sometimes used, "this old thing is the most ridiculous thing." The last bit was in an even higher voice, a half yell.

Sharon's eyebrow twitched in that fashion Rusty had come to know as a little sign of amusement, "Ridiculous? Have you even gotten it started? You know, light the charcoal briquettes on fire, and mind the lighter fluid, Jon."

Jonathan gave her a mock-laugh, "No, not at all. I thought if I stared at it long enough it would just magically burst into flame."

Sharon's eyebrow crept higher.

Jonathan continued, "Of course the blasted briquettes are on fire. And yes, I'm careful with the lighter fluid."

"Just checking, last time you practically set my house on fire."

"I was ten."

"Yes, what a wonderful little pyromaniac you were back then."

Jonathan rolled his eyes.

Rusty shared a look with Flynn, both of them trying to contain a too wide smile.

"Hey kid," Flynn said to Jonathan, "I can take a look at the thing."

Jonathan nodded and Flynn went with him to the veranda. Sharon came into the kitchen, eyeing all their work and squeezed Rusty's shoulder, peering to the open veranda door.

"You fine, Rusty?"

"Yup."

"Yup?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Hey mom, this lieutenant of yours sure is mighty handy," Jonathan yelled through the veranda door, "where did you say you picked him up again?"

"Oh shut up you," Sharon yelled back.

"I'm just saying I'm learning more than you've ever managed to teach me," Jonathan grinned as he peeked through the door, insolent smile wide and his eyes alight with a gleam.

Sharon pointed at him, "You watch it mister."

Her son continued to smile till Sharon shook her head and leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in Rusty's ear, "See, this is what I deal with. Ungrateful little brat," her eyes crinkled and Rusty smiled back.

Sharon took over Flynn's place, quickly managing to fill two big bowls with two different salads.

"So, are you sure you're alright?"

Rusty looked up and caught Sharon staring at him, intense and somewhat understanding.

"You seem quieter than usual," she elaborated.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Alright, honey. You let me know if there's anything, okay."

"Yes," he drew the word out in mock annoyance. Truth be told it was always nice to be told repeatedly that he could come to her with anything he might have circling around in his head. Sometimes he needed that bit of reassurance, however alien and strange it always seemed to him. Hard to believe when you had lived your whole life in a very different world, he thought.

Sharon started cutting feta and sun-dried tomatoes, opening a jar of olives.

Rusty sliced his potatoes into small neat bits, poured them into a tray and started seasoning them with oil, salt and a bit of thyme. He tossed in a bit of chili after looking through the spice rack.

They both startled when Jonathan gave a big whoop from outside.

Sharon leaned over, "You are definitely my favorite. But shh, don't tell the others."

Rusty smiled, "You're my favorite too," he told her back. They shared another smile, their own little secret one. Not too wide and not too long but brief and gentle, meant to relay just that shared understanding of theirs that seemed to have just popped up one day.

**/**

Sharon's father was not as menacing as he sounded on the telephone, Rusty found. Not as intimidating as he had imagined. The old man had approached Rusty and before he knew it he was in the middle of a brief hug and being called 'young man.'

Sam hung unto his hand through most of the night, for some reason the little girl seemed to like him. He did not really mind, she was sweet and had a nice smile that reminded him of Sharon as well.

All in all, they were not that a big gathering. Somehow Rusty had thought it would be a faceless crowd suddenly descending on their home. It was just Jonathan, Sam and Raydor Senior. Together with a smiling Sharon and Lieutenant Flynn, why it was in no way what he had imagined. Rusty had fun, he laughed and truth be told he liked getting this insight into Sharon's life.

Briefly he wondered about her other kid; he knew she had two. He had seen a picture of her albeit she had only been close to seventeen years. It was in Sharon's bedroom, a young Sharon with a ten-year old Jonathan and the older girl. He had seen more recent pictures of Jonathan but not a single one of the girl. Rusty had yet to ask Sharon. In the beginning he would not have had trouble asking her directly. Now, however, it was different. It was the fact that he did not want to hurt her; he had seen her eyes when she looked at that photograph. At some level he understood that look; so he pretended not to know about it. Eventually he figured she would tell him. Rusty knew she would tell him if he asked now, but it was just something he would rather she told him herself, when she felt the time was right.

Later, Rusty stood on the veranda, dusk about to descend, Flynn insisting on wiping clean the used grill.

"What's that, you smiling kid? See, I told you there was nothing to worry about," Flynn commented over his shoulder in a teasing tone.

Rusty looked at Flynn, "Yeah, it was stupid."

"Nah, not stupid. Understandable. I would've been anxious myself."

"You would?" Rusty was doubtful of that.

"Are you kidding. There was a time not so long ago Sharon used to scare the crap out of me; I've would have been more than anxious to meet her family."

Rusty laughed, catching Flynn's cheeky grin.

"She still scare you?" Rusty asked in mock-seriousness.

"I think I'll be better off refraining from answering that."

They both grinned.

"What are you two conspiring about?" Sharon snuck out to join them, looking between their wide smiles and trying to figure out what was so funny.

"Oh, you know this and that," Rusty answered.

She shook her head but her eyes were warm.

**/**

It was late, dark outside and everyone had finally left. Rusty felt tired but it was more from the long day before this. More from fretting yesterday and not being able to sleep. He had used too much energy fixating on this day and in the end it had turned out to be wonderful in spite of all his anxious thoughts.

Sharon's family was comfortable like Sharon herself, once you got to know them. The presence of lieutenant Flynn had helped in the beginning, it had unwittingly brought some of all the attention onto Flynn instead.

Now everything had been cleared away, excess food in the refrigerator.

Rusty slid down onto the sofa, wrapped himself in a blanket and yawned.

"Hey," Sharon came out from her bedroom, having changed into her comfortable pajamas, the one that looked soft and felt even softer when she hugged him in it. Her hair neatly brushed out, glasses gone. She had a peculiar look in her eyes and Rusty's yellow wrapped gift in her hand, "Did you leave this on my bed?"

He grinned; he had put it there when she had followed Flynn down to his car.

"Yeah."

"Rusty, you shouldn't have."

He sat up, a little nervous again.

Sharon sat down next to him, hogging the blanket.

She was one of those who opened a gift nicely, unwrapped it slowly and folded the wrapping paper, Rusty realized. It shouldn't have surprised him, Sharon was meticulous.

"C'mon, before I fall asleep," he teased her.

She smiled in reply, found the little box inside the wrapping paper, opened it and found two tickets.

Rusty scratched the back of his head, "Remember you told me you loved hiking?"

She looked closer at the tickets, her eyes warm when she looked up and caught his.

"This is just a permit, you know. We can change the dates and everything, but I couldn't purchase them without a date," Rusty elaborated, "It's supposed to be a beautiful trail and you can stay overnight. Or not."

"This is perfect," her voice was genuine, calm and soft. He had surprised her, he reflected.

He returned the smile, feeling even sleepier than before.

Sharon settled further into the sofa with him, a yawn covered by her hand.

"You ready for bed?" she asked him.

"Yeah… Just… Well."

"Yes?" she smiled, tilting her head, curious.

"I love you," he rushed out, feeling sheepish and awkward, and yet it rushed though him with a bit of relief. Finally, there it was – out in the open and fully articulated. Rusty had promised himself he would say it. It had been nestling within him for a long time and he had yet to fully comprehend it but it needed to be said back.

Her smiled deepened, eyes fully crinkled and he felt happy.

"I love you too, Rusty," she said in an even voice, as if it was the simplest sentence in the world.

Rusty looked away, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed by everything, feeling ready to quickly flee. Sharon however, quickly countered and pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Now, you go to sleep and tomorrow it's just going to be you and me. We can do whatever we please, huh, how does that sound? We'll take a look at our calendar and set a schedule for our hike as well."

He grinned, "Perfect."

She patted his back and let go.

"G'night Sharon."

"Goodnight Rusty."

**/**

This time Sharon was up before Rusty, coffee ready for him when he came trudging into the kitchen, still in his own pajamas.

Sharon was sitting on the kitchen counter, one leg over the other, reading what appeared to be today's newspaper. Rusty yawned.

"Morning," he grumbled and went straight to the coffee machine, hastily pouring black liquid into a mug already out for him.

"Morning sunshine," Sharon teased him.

He arched an eyebrow.

"You sleep alright," she asked, sipping her own coffee.

"Like the dead," he answered; he barely remembered any dreams and it had been a heavy sleep.

"Me too," Sharon yawned as well, her hand covering her mouth.

Rusty pulled out a bowl and flour, took eggs out of the refrigerator.

Sharon looked enquiringly at him.

"I'm making pancakes," he declared.

Her smile was wide before she became engrossed in her newspaper again.

It was always the best part of the day for him, their quiet mornings together. The routine of it, the content way it felt to simply slink into the kitchen and greet her. Sometimes they talked and other times they simply enjoyed a bit of silence. Sometimes he made an elaborate show of breakfast, sometimes Sharon flexed her culinary muscles and made him breakfast. Even when she was woken up at 5 am and had to hurry to a crime scene they managed an albeit quick morning ritual, coffee waiting for him if she had to leave before him, a little note attached to the refrigerator, her precise handwriting declaring a good day to him.

Morning always brought along a little sense of truly belonging. He cherished it above anything else.

**/**

Finite.


End file.
